The Final Lie
by Loreley Clay
Summary: When Ed truly lies to Al, the instances are so rare that Al remembers them all. Ed & Al reminiscence; angst too! R&R 3


**:Author's Note:**

**This piece was written as an entry in a fic contest for the prompt "elementary." It's powerfully influenced by the song "Uso" by SID as well! The line "the final lie was a kind one" is adapted from there.**

**Please enjoy!**

"_I love you because I hate lies."_

Al had always known that the bond between him and his brother was one forged by openness and honesty, so when Ed lied to him, the instances proved themselves to be so few and far between that Al did not allow them to damage that bond. They were invulnerable, iridescent—enclosed in Al's literal armor and warmed by Ed's metaphorical heart. So when Ed lied, it did not truly matter to Al, not really.

However, the rarity of these lies afforded them the unintended secondary quality of being unique, and therefore _memorable_.

The first—ah, the first real lie that stood out from the storm of inconsequential white lies Ed would come to employ was a painful one. When they were small, Ed told Al, "I'm okay," which was a lie. The memory was such that Al could clearly recall the way the light fell upon the crown of his older brother's head, cutting crosswise through the blinds on the library windows. Al had just returned from a grave with newly-turned dirt upon it, and a few flower petals still stuck to his fingers, suggesting his former purpose. Ed had not accompanied him. Al had only wanted Ed to be there for him, somehow, in whatever way he could manage—but when he shook his shoulder, the curled-up form had the resistance of stone. He had said, "I'm okay," anticipating an often-spoken question that had not, in fact, come at all. It had been a lie, and if Al had said the same words in that moment, they would have been a lie upon his lips as well. Ed was only trying to be strong, to be there for his brother, somehow— Al forgave him for that lie.

Upon a relatively advanced year and altered circumstances had fallen another instance, a ludicrous one. Ed had told Al that he did not like Winry—an assertion which Al, quite assuredly, knew to be a lie. Ed was not expressing any particular aversion to Winry by saying this; his intention was merely to lay to rest once and for all the onslaught of powerfully-suggestive looks Al continually tossed his way when the three of them were together. Al thought perhaps Ed was attempting to spare his feelings as well, assuming that Al felt the same way—but it is simple psychology that when one has a certain tendency, one most always finds a way to project that tendency onto others. Al forgave him for that lie.

A certain familiar, oft-revisited scene had only once been colored by a lie, and that was when Ed had told Al, "I hate that guy." They had been halfway down the steps of a tall building that acquaintanceship had rendered bothersome rather than imposing, and they had just spoken to a similarly pacified man, Colonel Mustang. Al did not mind the man terribly, but he had expected Ed to be sulkily quiet for a few hours following the meeting until a suitable distraction presented itself. It was not the first time Ed had said such a thing, but it was the first to be said so plainly, so _honestly_ to Al. Mutterings fueled by infantile impatience were hardly of consequence, but this was a _lie._ Al knew it, yet said nothing to contradict his brother. The understanding he and Mustang shared was far too sympathetic, too easily fraternal to bring about anything but a feeling of mutual distaste that belied deeper affections. It could hardly be considered any sort of hate, but of course, Ed could never be expected to understand such a concept— not for some time, Al was sure. Al forgave him for that lie.

The last lie—Al was convinced it was the last—was a kind one. It was one Ed repeated to him so often that the way he pronounced the words was etched enduringly in Al's memory, and he could call them up at will, to cradle them close when he most needed them.

"I'm going to save you, Al."

—then he would inevitably add _whatever it takes_, or perhaps _we'll get your body back somehow_, or whatever else he felt needed to be said to lift Al's spirits, to strengthen the promise that bound them so closely together. It was the most basic, most elementary component to the new aspect their relationship had taken on, and yet, Al knew that it was a lie. After all this time, he knew it was a lie.

Al knew that Ed didn't mean it, for he had no way of knowing—someone like Ed had no conception of an occurrence of failure. He was absolutely assured that he was capable of performing such a feat— how could he possibly not?

The final lie was a kind one.

Al could not forgive him for that lie, and instead took the only course of action he knew he could. He held the truth close to his heart—to the feeling of it, at least. He allowed Ed to continue pronouncing that final lie, and he allowed himself to listen, merely, and know. He stood watching Ed from an impossibly distant closeness, as always, and silently said to that kind lie:

_No, brother, but it's alright, because… _I'm_ going to save_ you.


End file.
